


Take This Longing

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I mean not deadly sickness, M/M, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 19:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Zechs only has a few hours of leave, and it seems that fate - and Lady Une - are determined to ruin it for him.





	Take This Longing

A/N: For Shinigami-of-Excellence

 

A/N2: Thanks to Ro, my beta, for always supporting me. And fixing me.

 

A/N3: Title from the Leonard Cohen song. Not necessarily the theme for this fic.

 

Pairings: 13x6, 13x11

 

Warnings: 

 

_ Take This Longing _

  
  


Considering that his next posting would be to what Noin cheerfully called ‘The Land of Post-Mortem Promotions’, Zechs felt that only forty-eight hours of leave wasn’t nearly enough. Especially considering that, even if he  _ did _ manage to keep himself alive for the next six months, there was little chance of him seeing anything close to  _ civilization _ during that time.

 

Of all the places to be posted, Mongolia was the absolute last place Zechs wanted to be. With the constantly shifting battlefronts on Earth, and the rumors of an imminent threat from the colonies, Zechs knew that the posting was meant to get him out of the way. And to isolate Treize.

 

_ Treize _ .

 

Forty-eight hours certainly wasn’t enough. Especially not when Zechs was forced to spend six of those in transit.

 

By the time his flight landed and Zechs waited to be cleared through port security, he had lost any patience. 

 

When an aging general and his two adjutants cut in front of Zechs to take the last spots on the shuttle ferrying soldiers from the military spaceport to the heart of Brussels, Zechs actually snarled.

 

The sound was lost in the cacophony of the port.

 

“Need a ride?”

 

Zechs turned and found himself momentarily speechless.

 

He had  _ hoped _ , though certainly hadn’t expected, that Treize would be at the port waiting for him.

 

But, of course, Treize Khushrenada had too many things to do. Ferrying Zechs to and from the spaceport was  _ not _ the task of a man bent on reshaping the Earthsphere.

 

“Colonel.”

 

Une, leaning against the hood of one of Treize’s prized antique Terran cars, had her arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face.

 

She looked dangerously casual.

 

“Colonel,” she responded in kind.

 

Neither offered the other a salute, nor did Une straighten up. 

 

It was, Zechs reflected, the first time he had ever seen her anything less than painfully erect. She seemed to have a steel spine that had been fused upright. Even when running, or sparring…

 

He had never even seen her bend  _ over, _ Zechs realized.

 

She arched an eyebrow at him from behind her glasses. It was almost as if she could see his thoughts. Impossible, considering the mask he wore.

 

“Mr. Treize was otherwise occupied, and unable to retrieve you himself.”

 

_ Retrieve _ .

 

As though Zechs were a pet, or luggage.

 

He inclined his head.

 

“How thoughtful of him to send you.”

 

He held out his bag, only barely fighting the urge to drop it at her feet.

 

Une finally straightened up and walked the distance between them, her boot heels a crisp staccato.

 

She took the bag from him and gestured towards the passenger side of the car.

 

Zechs waited while she stowed the bag, arms folded.

 

Une noticed he hadn’t moved towards the car and, after closing the boot, Une moved around to the passenger door and opened it with a flourish.

 

Zechs stepped forward, walking casually, as if he  _ wasn’t _ eager to get out of the port and be on his way.

 

He sat down in the passenger seat, stretching his legs out and settling back against the seat while-

 

Une slammed the door shut, catching the tail of his coat between the door and the frame.

 

Zechs glared at her as she sauntered around to the other side, and he was forced to open the door and adjust his coat.

 

She settled behind the wheel and started the car.

 

Five minutes of silence was, unfortunately, all that Zechs was able to last before he had to ask.

 

“How are things progressing?”

 

Une didn’t spare him a look.

 

“Mr. Treize is managing everything accordingly.”

 

She wasn’t about to surrender her superior position and knowledge so easily, Zechs knew from experience.

 

He sighed. He didn’t have the patience for this. He  _ never _ had the patience for this.

 

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that you insist on calling him  _ Mister _ Treize. He has  _ earned _ his rank, and you completely ignoring that is absurd. And embarrassing.”

 

Une’s lips pressed together, and he saw her hands grip the steering column more tightly.

 

But she didn’t rise to the bait.

 

There were times when she would fight back, times when  _ she _ would start the fight.

 

It had taken Zechs entirely too long, but he had finally figured out the pattern.

 

If Une was combative, it was because things were going well - she was  _ bored _ and confident and a little complacent. If she was silent and sullen, like now, it was because the situation was tense, and Treize was likely struggling to stay balanced in the dangerous game he played.

 

Une’s silence left Zechs feeling unsettled and deeply unsatisfied. Usually, she would make some kind of token, snarky whispered comment, even during the worst of times.

 

That she was completely without a rebuttal unnerved him.

 

The ride continued in painful silence, and when she parked the car in the garage beneath Treize’s apartment, Zechs didn’t hesitate to exit the car and grab his own bag.

 

He made his way to the elevator, waiting for her only because the operator made no move to close the door until Une strolled into the car.

 

“He’s not well.”

 

The words were so low Zechs wasn’t sure he had heard her properly.

 

He turned his head to look at her, just barely resisting the urge to remove his helmet.

 

“Mr. Treize. He isn’t… himself.”

 

Une sounded and looked uncertain, her eyes avoiding his and her chin tucked down in a posture of defeat.

 

_ That _ was deeply concerning.

 

Once again, Zechs didn’t bother waiting on Une. He exited the elevator as soon as it reached the top floor and walked into Treize’s penthouse apartment.

 

The foyer was empty, as was the formal sitting room, the dining room, the library, the living room, the kitchen, and- 

 

Treize was in bed.

 

Dressed in the silk pajamas Zechs had given him last year.

 

It was a sight that Zechs had certainly fantasized about, though he wouldn’t have been unhappy to find Treize naked instead of in his gift.

 

The reality, however, was rather different than his dream.

 

The thick comforter on the bed was pulled up to Treize’s waist, and he was propped against the headboard with several pillows. Scattered on the bed around him were dozens of files and several maps.

 

He looked… terrible.

 

There were dark circles under his eyes, his face was pale, his usually immaculate hair now anything but. 

 

Une stepped up beside Zechs.

 

“What is wrong with him?” Zechs demanded in a low voice.

 

Treize, despite holding a sheaf of papers in one hand and a datapad in the other, had his eyes closed and was clearly asleep.

 

“He insists it’s nothing,” Une responded. 

 

“He’s lying.”

 

Une gave him a scathing look.

 

She stepped into the room and cleared her throat loudly.

 

Treize jerked, the movement as comical as it was uncharacteristic. He dropped the papers and fumbled with the datapad before sitting upright and glaring at the pair of them.

 

The glare immediately softened.

 

“Zechs.”

 

He had always loved the way Treize said his adopted name, the curve of his lips.

 

But now…

 

Treize’s voice sounded raw, the one word an effort.

 

Zechs frowned and moved farther into the room.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

Treize started to say something, but instead erupted into a coughing fit.

 

Zechs walked over to his side, but Treize waved him away with the hand not holding a handkerchief to his mouth.

 

“I assure you, I am perfectly fine.”

 

Treize, a man known for his consummate ability to dissemble and dance around the truth, had never told a more blatantly obvious lie.

 

“You are  _ not _ fine, Mr. Treize,” Une insisted.

 

She came around to the other side of the bed, positioned opposite Zechs.

 

Treize looked from one of them to the other.

 

“I  _ am _ ,” he grumbled, and shifted in the bed. “I am simply…”

 

“You have  _ never _ taken work to bed with you,” Zechs interrupted.

 

Treize gave him a dark look.

 

“These are difficult times. The situation on the colonies is-”

 

“Mr. Treize,  _ please _ -”

 

“The  _ both _ of you should remember that I am your superior officer. Do  _ not _ interrupt me again.”

 

The words, the tone, and the look in Treize’s eyes had both Zechs and Une straightening up and backing away a step. That he managed to assert his dominance over the pair of them so easily, while barely conscious in bed, was a reminder of just how ingrained that relationship was in each of them.

 

Zechs looked over at Une. Her lips were pinched, her hands clasped behind her back, her head bowed. Posture, as ever, perfect.

 

“As I said,” Treize continued after a moment, “the situation on the colonies is reaching the point that action will need to be taken. The Alliance leadership-” Treize paused to cough again, and Zechs winced at the sound. 

 

“May I get you a glass of water?” Une waited until Treize had finished coughing to ask.

 

Treize gave her a sour look, but didn’t say anything.

 

She turned to go.

 

Zechs waited until she had left the room before he moved closer to the bed.

 

He sat down on the edge.

 

Treize sighed and reached over to him, his hand finding Zechs’s and squeezing it. Zechs could feel the heat of the other man even through the kid gloves he wore.

 

“Treize.”

 

The other man shook his head and waved away Zechs’s concern.

 

“I am fine,” he insisted. “I simply… have been unable to rest very much since returning from the summit on L3.”

 

The  _ summit _ . The facade that Treize insisted on maintaining whenever he visited the colony. Zechs still wasn’t sure  _ why _ Treize visited L3 every few months. Une had mentioned something once, about some woman Treize had sent letters to. 

 

“How can I help you?”

 

Treize’s lips curled upwards, and he moved his hand upwards, running one long finger across Zechs’s jawline.

 

“This is a poor reunion, isn’t it?”

 

Zechs turned his head in Treize’s palm and pressed his lips to the overwarm flesh.

 

“Never.”

 

Une came back into the room, not bothering to clear her throat or give them another moment of private intimacy.

 

Even so, Zechs made no move to shift away, and neither did Treize.

 

He accepted the glass of water from Une and drank a few sips before handing it back to her.

 

She placed it on the nightstand closest to her.

 

“Perhaps I should close my eyes for a few moments. And then,” he moved his hand to Zechs’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, “then we can spend some time together, hm?”

 

Zechs rose, the dismissal obvious, and followed Une from the bedroom.

 

She closed the door softly, and Zechs immediately backed up her against it.

 

“How  _ long _ has he been like this?” he demanded.

 

She glared up at him.

 

“A few days. He grew worse yesterday, but today is the first day he hasn’t risen from bed.”

 

“What are his other symptoms?” 

 

“He hasn’t given me a list of his ailments,” Une groused.

 

Zechs returned her glare with his own.

 

“Cough, fatigue, sore throat. I believe he has a fever. Undoubtedly a headache as well.”

 

Zechs tried to think of any colonial plagues that might have had an outbreak on L3. They were, mostly, confined to the L2 colonial sector. But there was travel between the colonies, and perhaps some of the colonial quarantines in the L2 sector hadn’t been enforced…

 

“He might have a strain of the Nhom Virus,” Une murmured, her words seemingly answering Zechs’s thoughts.

 

“The  _ Nhom Virus _ ?” Zechs had seen the reports, had seen photographs of the victims ravaged by that disease.

 

“Or, perhaps, the flu.”

 

Zechs stared down at her.

 

“The flu.”

 

Une’s cheeks grew pink.

 

“I don’t want to assume, in case it  _ is _ the Nhom Virus, but…”

 

“Does he have any of the blue spots? On his hands or feet?”

 

Une shook her head in the negative, and Zechs breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

“Those usually appear in the first thirty-six hours,” he reminded her.

 

“I am aware. But if this is some variation…”

 

“Then we will both monitor him closely.”

 

She looked uneasy at the suggestion, but then nodded.

 

Zechs stepped away from her, allowing Une space.

 

She remained against the door.

 

“I’m not leaving him when he’s like this.”

 

She usually did, whenever Zechs made one of his all-too-infrequent visits, disappearing to Zechs didn’t care where so that Zechs and Treize could be alone together.

 

He was, of course, painfully aware of the relationship that Une had with Treize. No doubt she felt the same about  _ his _ relationship with Treize. However, she had never before challenged his right to be the sole focus of Treize’s attentions when he was present.

 

“Very well,” he sighed. 

 

Une nodded and finally moved, walking past Zechs, towards the kitchen.

 

“I call him Mr. Treize because he… gave me permission to do so.”

 

Zechs turned to look at her.

 

“I have never questioned what he means to you. I should be able to expect the same courtesy from you.”

 

A coughing fit from the other room had both of them wincing.

 

Zechs sighed and inclined his head.

 

“My apologies.”

 

And, to his surprise, he meant it.

 

Une nodded.  

 

“Good. Put your bag in the guest room. This isn’t a hotel where some minion will carry your things for you. And then assist me with preparing lunch for Mr. Treize.”

 

Zechs rolled his eyes but, seeing as she  _ had _ been commissioned all of three weeks before him and was, therefore, his superior officer, he followed the orders.

 

This certainly wasn’t the leave he had planned for - definitely wasn’t what he  _ wanted _ . 

 

But, there was something new and… appealing to seeing Treize in this state, almost vulnerable and yet still so commanding.

 

Zechs intended to make every remaining moment of his leave count. Flu or no, Une or no. He  _ would _ spend these handful of hours with Treize.

  
  


-o-

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I had this WHOLE thing planned in my head for the entire two days but it started to get unwieldy. And I know the end is kind of abrupt, but I rather like it because it doesn't solve a LOT between Zechs and Une, but it gives them an interesting starting place.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Even Supervillains Need Sick Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264510) by [Shinigami_of_Excellence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigami_of_Excellence/pseuds/Shinigami_of_Excellence)




End file.
